Brush Stroke
by mimithenumberon
Summary: "His blush intensified and he flung the sketch pad across the room in anger. He refused to accept it! No way, no way , NO WAY, that was NOT going to happen!" Warning: MATURE SEXUAL CONTENTS!, M/M, BAD LANGUAGE XD I hope you all like it and if u can please review! ENJOY! X3


**Warning: MATURE SEXUAL CONTENTS!, M/M, BAD LANGUAGE **

**I had a lot of fun writing this and i just had to since i'm still hurting over Isaac's death... I really hoped he'd survive... Oh well, unfortunately Heroes doesn't belong to me or it would not be below M rated. XD Well, i hope you all enjoy it and if u can, please leave a review. Thank you in advance! XD **

**Also, I do NOT own Heroes or any of the characters! **

_**Brush Stroke **_

Isaac Mendez was one of those people someone liked or really, really hated. Love wasn't even an option. Simone had tried but even someone as pure of heart and kind as her couldn't bear the weight of his existence for long because he was a huge weight to bear. Not only was he a hopeless drug addict, though he'd been sober for over a week now and that was a pretty major accomplishment, but his personality wasn't a walk in the park either. He was a cynical bastard who loved to judge but hated to be judged. He was arrogant and quick to bite, with sharp words or a clenched fist. He expected everyone who crossed his path to instantly be smitten by his genius but he wasn't willing to give an inch to anyone. He didn't just attract confrontations, he sought it. Yep, he was a ray of sunshine alright...

He grumble under his breath as he looked for a pencil. His sketch pad was already on his lap but fat load of good that was without something to channel his 'powers'. He nearly smirked at the thought. Not because he didn't believe in their existence, because no matter how hard he tried to rationalize it only an idiot would still deny the existence of his ability after countless demonstrations. He was even able, albeit with some difficulty, to accept that his was not the only one out there and virtually any of those dreams he'd had of superheroes, back when he was a kid and he'd dreamed of becoming a comic artist, could become real if they hadn't already. No, what made him smirk every time was how epically useless his power was. What use was it being able to predict the end of New York if he couldn't stop it? It wasn't like he had magical healing abilities, or the power to bend time and space, or even mind reading. He was just a drug addict who struggled when he had to move the couch from one corner of his studio to the other and couldn't keep a girl if his life depended on it, forget about winning her. He was no hero and he wished he could just get rid of the visions because he hated seeing his own powerlessness. Every time his bare feet crossed the cold floor he deliberately looked anywhere except at the painting spread under his skin, the flaming colours so vivid he could almost feel the heat licking his flesh.

Well whatever. He wasn't in the mood to contemplate the soon-to-be end of the city, at least not right then. He wanted to forget his worries, even for a few minutes, and the only thing which worked was losing himself in his art. Moulding shapes out of lines and curves with practiced ease and watching how his pencil slowly covered more and more of the snow white paper. It was even more effective than drugs if he was being honest with himself, but the drugs were a crutch he wasn't able to walk without and now he had a convenient excuse as well. He needed them to see the future...right? He ignored the annoying voice at the back of his mind which snarled at him and called him pathetic. So what if he was lying to himself? It didn't matter anyway since nobody would listen to what he said, high or otherwise. He was like a tragic character in one of his comics. Doomed to know the truth but unable to convince anyone else of it. Usually said character would take matters into his/her own hands and do something about it but like he said before, he was no hero and this was real life.

He shook his head his fingers finally closing around the tool of his trade and he leaned back in the old sofa, simply letting his mind go blank for a moment. What should he draw? What twist of emotions would guide his hands this time? What colours would best depict the nightmare which was his life? He found at an early stage that it was best to shut the mind off when he wanted his fingers to move freely and that's exactly what he was doing. He was shutting his mind off...

* * *

He blinked and the world around him slowly came into focus again. It all looked blurry for a moment, nothing more than random colours thrown carelessly on a pallet but then they took defined shapes and withdrew to the confinements of their respective canvases where Isaac himself had placed them. He was used to the sensation by now, though it had taken him some time. He was coming down from one of his impromptu trips to future land...but that didn't make any sense. He hadn't shot up so how was it possible for his ability to manifest itself? He purposefully ignored that voice inside him saying '_I told you so'_. Was it possible that his 'gift' was growing stronger, evolving maybe? Or maybe he'd just taken a nap or something and didn't remember it, though even as he thought this he realized it sounded ridiculous. Well, there was one way to verify if he had indeed made another prediction. The sketch pad was still on his lap, though it was closed.

Wondering what fresh hell was waiting for him or for strangers he didn't even know around the corner, he began flicking through the pages. He grimaced at the old picture of Simone and that nurse, whatever was his name, kissing in the rain under the red umbrella. He'd thought he'd ripped it to shreds already... Something to do for later. The next picture however made his lips curve upwards in a cruel smile. It was one of the pictures he'd drawn that day and he recognised Simone and nurse-boy easily. This time they weren't kissing though, far from it. She seemed to be shouting at him, anger clear as day across her face, and he had his head bend like a whipped puppy. Ha! Served him right. He didn't know how but he knew whatever the guy did was bad enough to end their relationship. His eyes practically danced with glee at the thought, though he wasn't naive enough to expect for Simone to return to him. She's been pretty clear that she didn't want anything more to do with him until he cleaned up and knowing himself...that wasn't going to be anytime soon. But as long as the nurse didn't have her he was pretty content. He was even smug if the smile on his lips was any indication...

That was only the first picture in a series though and he turned the page over, this time with less trepidation. Maybe it was all good news for once... The next image made him raise an eyebrow in confusion. A clock, his clock hung on the adjacent wall, just struck five minutes past three. He wasn't sure if it was three in the afternoon or three in the morning but clearly the time had some significance since he'd bothered to draw it. He shrugged, though there was nobody else there, and turned the page over once more. And just like that his good mood dissipated.

This time he'd illustrated himself and another man. The last man he'd ever want to be in the same room with, especially when that room was his studio. Nurse-boy, because he really did have that boyish charm about him which no doubt made women look at him like they would at a cute pet, was pressed against his main door with his hands pinned by his head. His legs were parted to allow for another body to slip in between and his head was thrown back with an expression which could only be described as arousing across his face. And the other body who was indeed chest to chest with the slutty nurse was none other than himself. His hands were pressed firmly against the guy's, he really should remember his name, wrists while he was hungrily devouring the exposed throat. He didn't even have a shirt on!

Feeling a blush spread across his cheeks, but choosing to ignore it, Isaac nearly tore the copy apart in his haste to turn the page. Whatever that had been it was NOT his future! No way in hell would he do _that_ with the man whose very existence made him want to break something. Unfortunately, the fourth picture seemed to disagree. In this one, he had the guy spread flat on his back across his creaking bed with his legs crossed around his waist and his fingers gripping the sheets ardently. He himself was clearly fucking the guy senseless and his own features were contorted with pleasure so acute it nearly looked painful. His blush intensified and he flung the sketch pad across the room in anger. He refused to accept it! No way, no way , NO WAY, that was NOT going to happen!

It took Isaac a few minutes to reign in his boiling hot anger and with a contemptuous look thrown at the copy, as if it was its fault that such filthy images filled the pages, he got to his feet and strode towards it. He quickly leafed through the other pictures and each one seemed to be more and more pornographic to the point where he flung the pad across the room again, this time watching it hit the wall of his 'bedroom'. It was just a tiny room with a bed in it, too small to even fit a wardrobe, but it was all he needed. He glared daggers at the copy before turning his back to it, resolving to forget its existence entirely.

* * *

Isaac rolled over, throwing half the blanket over the other side of the bed, and groaned in frustration. His voice was muffled by the pillow but he said something to the effect of fuck off, certainly something which would have been censored had this been a PG rated cartoon. But it did nothing to stop the drumming knocking. In fact, the more he tried to ignore it and return to his dreams the louder and more hectic it became until the artist sat up, his lips twisted in a fierce growl. He didn't care if Jesus himself was standing outside his door, he was going to rip him limb from limb. He didn't know what time it was but it was defiantly way past midnight, since he'd only been able to fall asleep at about one in the morning. He was NOT in the mood for a surprise visitor!

Cursing all the way and regretting not having at least pulled a shirt over himself, not because he was feeling embarrassed about being seen in nothing but a pair of boxers but because it was colder than the freaking North Pole. He hadn't exactly been able to afford paying for heating... He hurried to the door in the hope he'd tell whoever that was to take a hike and he'd be able to snuggle under the covers again, his body badly missing the heat already.

'What?!' He pulled the door open so viciously the hinges nearly gave out, having twisted the key in the lock like a knife in a wound. He wasn't ready to see nurse-boy shifting his weight from one foot to the other awkwardly and he found himself at a complete loss of words. He stared at the guy like he was a ghost or something equally impossible.

'Sorry for bothering you but will you let me in please? I need to talk to you.' Automatically, his mouth still opened, Isaac took a step back and Peter let himself past before he could change his mind. Once the guy moved though, the spell seemed to break and the artist snapped back to his senses with dizzying speed. The first thing he did was throw a weary glance at the clock ticking away carelessly on his wall. Yep, sure as the sun rose each morning it was five past three. Isaac felt his eyebrows knit into a frown and he closed the door, not seeing the point of letting more of the less-than-warm night wind inside his already freezing home. It'd been four days since he drew in the sketch pad and he'd deliberately blocked those memories only to have them slap him in the face. He turned to his unwelcomed guest with murder in his eyes.

'What the hell do you want? And do you realize what fucking time it is?!' Peter took a step back and Isaac was pleased to see a hint of fear cross his features. He probably wasn't used to being snapped at quite like that but Isaac couldn't care less. Not even when his eyes fell to the ground and he had that kicked puppy look on his face.

'I'm really sorry. I'll go.' Peter actually took a step towards the door, which Isaac was still stationed in front of, his eyes refusing to meet the artist's.

'Hold on a second. If you're telling me you woke me up in the middle of the night for nothing I'll get really pissed off. What do you want to talk about?' What was he doing?! Here was Peter giving him the perfect excuse to kick him out and he was telling him to stay?! His mind was still sleepy...It was the only logical explanation. Peter looked so damn relieved, a smile so genuinely happy it lit his whole damn face, Isaac's scowl darkened. One would think he'd agreed to marry the guy from that expression! Wait, did he just have a passing thought of marrying what's-his-name?... Definitely just the after-effects of a sleepy mind!

'Um...I know you don't really like me-'

'What gave me away?' But Peter chose to ignore the quip and continue, once more moving on his feet awkwardly.

'-But I was wondering if you could help me. Simone and I...we just had a fight.' Isaac felt that cruel smile lifting the corners of his lips again, though this wasn't news to him. But there was one thing which he was curious about...

'What did you do wrong?' Peter glanced at Isaac but he didn't hold his gaze. Instead, he ran his hand through his inky strands and pushed his fringe behind his ear.

'I called the wrong name during...um...' It was painfully obvious Peter was highly uncomfortable with the subject and his cheeks even stained a light red.

'Sex?' Isaac knew damn right he was right but how could he resist teasing the guy, especially when he looked so damn cute. STOP IT! He silently cursed his stupid mind for thinking such ridiculous crap.

'Yeah...' While the nurse was staring holes into his floor Isaac finally remembered his name. It was an odd thing to strike him so out of nowhere but it was nice to finally put a name to the face, though he did like the sound of nurse-boy.

'So what are you here for again?' Isaac was sure if he didn't push the conversation along Peter would be content to just stand there for the rest of the night. But then again, he had a coat on his back which was more that he could say about himself. The prophetic artist crossed his arms around his chest to preserve whatever scarce warmth he still had contained within his thin body.

'Oh right, sorry. I was wondering if you could help me make peace with Simone again.' Isaac was dumb-struck and his widened eyes didn't mask the fact. Peter hastily continued. 'It's just that, it was an accident and I regret it deeply but she won't listen. I thought maybe you knew a way to pacify her since you two used to be together.' Isaac had to shake his head in disbelief at Peter's naïveté. Was he honestly expecting for him to help the guy who stole his girlfriend to get back with said girlfriend? Judging by Peter's expecting big eyes he was and Isaac shook his head again.

'You can't be serious. You can't possibly be stupid enough to expect for me to say yes to that.' Peter's face crumbled and for a split second Isaac even felt bad, but he waved the feeling away like he would an irritating fly.

'I figured you'd say no but I had to try anyway.' He looked so damn sheepish Isaac wanted to slap some sense into him.

'Damn right I'm going to say no! You must be high to even dream I'd help you steal Simone away from me like you did before.' Something he said seemed to re-animate the nurse and he finally locked eyes with him, his own gaze narrowing in anger.

'I didn't steal anything from you. You lost her and she came to me not the other way around.'

'And you were so very kind to open your arms to her weren't you. The gallant knight saving the princess from the drug addict. Oh bravo! You should make that into a movie! It even has betrayal or are we calling your little slip-up in bed something else?' He was hitting where it hurt and Isaac knew it, enjoyed it. He saw Peter flinch though he tried to hide it.

'You don't know anything!' Peter's body assumed a defensive pose as if he expected Isaac's stinging words to turn into physical blows but the artist only raised an eyebrow mockingly.

'Don't I? I foresaw your fight four days ago and even saw you crawl here at this god-forsaken hour.' Though he didn't know why and he didn't mention the other things he saw...

'If you know so much then why did you even let me in? Why didn't you just ignore me if you were going to be such a dick about it?!'

'Oh well, let me think about that. Maybe because you seemed about ready to kick my door down.' He made sure to coat each word in a burning cocktail of scorn, condescension and pure meanness. He wanted to see Peter cry...and then he wanted to kiss those tears away. SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!

'Fine, you made your point. This was a bad idea.' Peter walked up the short flight of stairs leading to the door, making his way past Isaac who didn't even bother to move out of his way, only to stop with his hand on the door handle. 'And I know you're full of shit. You don't know the whole story.'

'Please enlighten me then pretty boy. What am I missing?' Peter was refusing to meet his eyes again and Isaac had to scream at himself for finding this bashfulness adorable. He almost gave into an inexplicable urge to tilt Pete's chin up but he just dug his fingers into his arms instead.

'You don't know the name I called.' Isaac waited for Peter to continue but that was all he was apparently going to say on the subject. Without another word, the visitor twisted the handle but just as he was about to open the door he found Isaac's hand pushing it back shut in his face. When he looked at the artist he drew in a quick breath at how close he was, one step away from him in all his near naked glory.

'Whose name did you call? You can't just leave me on a cliff hanger like that.' Frankly he wasn't that curious about it but Isaac really didn't want to let Peter go all of a sudden. He wasn't about to admit that, not to himself and certainly not to the other man.

'Why do you care? A moment ago you couldn't wait to kick me out in the street.' Peter glanced at him uncertainly, fighting down the drying sensation which seemed to take over his mouth. He didn't completely win the struggle to tame the blooming blush creeping up his neck though and Isaac didn't miss it. He smirked barely resisting the urge to lick his lips at the sight. The red looked nicely against Peter's pale skin and it was a pretty contrast to his dark hair... He was only looking at him from an artistic point of view, admiring his long eyelashes and full lips as he would a model for one of his paintings! At least that's what he told himself...

'I still do but I want you to tell me the name first. Call it payback for waking me up at three in the morning.' He knew this would fill Peter with guilt and he loved seeing the way the guy bit the inside of his cheek in frustration. Damn the guy was easy to manipulate...

'I-I can't tell you.' Peter tried to move back but before he knew what was happening Isaac had him trapped, the palms of his hands pressed flatly on either side of his head. The smaller hero blinked but the scenario didn't alter. All Isaac had to do was lean in slightly and he'd be able to dominate the slightly parted lips in front of him. They looked so inviting... His arguments with himself were getting weaker the closer he got to nurse-boy...

'And why's that. It's not like you called my name now did you?' Immediately Peter's skin turned such a deep scarlet it was like Isaac had thrown a bucket of red paint all over his face. He watched the sudden transformation in bewilderment, caught somewhere between shock and amusement. Wait, wasn't he supposed to hate this guy? When did that change?... 'Did you?'

'It's not what you think!' But even to his own ears, the line sounded pathetic. It was exactly what Isaac was thinking. Peter was gay, always had been but Nathan had asked him to hide his sexual identity, at least in public, for the duration of the campaign. It was the only reason he'd even agreed to go out with Simone though he felt like the lowest dirt-bag for using her like that...She must have known, or had at least a clue about it, though because she wasn't that phased whenever he deliberately avoided intimate contact with her. He really did love her but in more of a sisterly way... He'd even tried to give the relationship a shot but well...calling her ex's name during sex was defiantly the last straw. Isaac's been on his mind ever since he and Simone found him passed out on the floor and he'd looked after him. Even deep under the influence of drugs he hadn't been able ignore how handsome the artist was. He was pretty but rugged as well with his messy hair and light stubble. He felt like some love struck teenager, unable to stop thinking about a man he'd only seen once... He really was stupid like Isaac had said.

'Really? If it's not what I think then why are you blushing and why is your heart beating so fast?' The artist was loving this. He felt like the cat toying with the mouse before he'd eat the poor thing. He pressed one of his hands against Peter's chest and he was able to feel the hectic drumming even through his clothes.

'It was an accident, nothing more.' Peter may have sounded convincing if he didn't look like he'd hyperventilate any second. Isaac smirked and moved his hand over the other's chest, taking close notes of Peter's reactions. It wasn't disappointing, especially when his fingertips reached the hero's neck and he was rewarded with a sharp gasp.

'Well if it was just an accident then I suppose it would be a real dick move of me to take advantage of you right here against my front door.' The prophet took a step back, letting his hands fall by his sides, wondering what Peter's next move would be. It was so obvious the man wanted him, even if he hadn't already foreseen his expressions caressed by raw pleasure at the ministrations of his own hand. But he wasn't about to make this easy for the nurse. That wasn't his style. He watched Peter struggle with his lust and pride, for once waiting patiently for the other to speak.

'I... It wasn't an accident.' The confession made Peter glance at some imaginary spot to his left, deliberately avoiding Isaac's scrutinising gaze.

'Go on. There's more to the story I'm sure.' Okay, maybe he was enjoying this a little too much but Peter didn't seem to mind being toyed with, if one ignored his clear distress. Peter bit his lower lip and this time Isaac did lick his own in anticipation.

'I've been thinking of you since that day I first saw you. I can't shake you out of my head and it's driving me insane. Please don't kick me out in the street.' Peter looked at him so horrified as if the possibility just occurred to him and Isaac couldn't help a low chuckle. In a flash he had Peter's wrists pressed into the wood, one on either side of his head, loving the helpless display. He'd always liked being the one in control when it came to sex and usually his lovers, female or male, didn't appreciate that but Peter's eyes only got darker.

'It's too late to run away now Peter. You're mine little mouse.' Peter found himself swallowing heavily when the artist said his name and he welcomed the other lips eagerly when they descended upon his hungrily. He didn't hesitate to open his mouth and allow Isaac complete control, his tongue putting up just enough opposition to make things interesting and to give the other a chance to dominate him. He wished he had the use of his hands but as soon as he tried to move them the other man pressed them more firmly against the vertical surface. When Isaac began flicking his tongue down his chin, grazing the angle of his jaw with his incisors, the smaller man couldn't help making a noise which sounded suspiciously like a moan. He didn't have to see the other to know he was smirking but he really didn't care being the bud of the joke when it felt so damn good. He threw his head back, feeling the hard wood connect with his skull but ignoring the dull ache, and Isaac didn't miss such a golden opportunity to map out the freshly exposed throat. His lips descended down the jugular, biting harshly when they reached all the way down and he was rewarded with a needy whimper. How interesting? It seemed Peter, the goody two shoes, had a thing for pain and since Isaac didn't want to disappoint, he nipped at the skin again.

He tugged impatiently at Peter's coat, pulling it down his arms and undoing the buttons of his shirt so his tongue could explore a wider surface. Peter found his hands free again and after discarding his coat entirely and practically ripping apart his shirt in his haste he raked his fingers over the artist's upper arms. Isaac wasn't very muscular, since he had no time to waste on physical activity, but he was far from fat. He didn't have enough money to pay for heating, like hell he'd have enough to stuff his pie hole just for the sake of it. He was just perfect, to Peter anyway who'd never liked buff cakes or twigs. He let his own fingers moved across the plains of flesh, eager to feel more and commit it all to memory. When Isaac pushed harder against him, bringing their lower bodies together, his nails dug harshly into the other's shoulder blades and the addict's hiss danced across his lips before their lips mashed together in a passionate battle.

Isaac's hands settled on Peter's hips, holding him in place, while he began rolling his hips against his. Peter wanted to buck into the touch but the hands held him down securely and all he could do was whine every time friction between their growing needs was created. Somewhere along the way one of his legs wound up around Isaac's waist, pulling him in closer, and the artist chuckled against the skin of his neck. The sound was almost a growl it was so low and full of lust. The smaller hero was growing impatient and his hands began pulling at the oracle's long strands only to be pacified with a bite along the collarbone. Isaac's movements became more hectic and powerful, Peter's back hitting the door with force every time, until he suddenly took a step back, disentangling himself from the nurse's hold. The look his guest threw at him made him feel like a damn murderer.

'So impatient... Come on then, since you can't wait for me to fuck you senseless...' Isaac grabbed Peter's hand and led him towards his bedroom, too stubborn to admit he was aching just as much to feel the other's searing heat. He nonchalantly threw the slighter man onto the bed and was on top of him before any words could be uttered. Lips re-united, the passion becoming rawer and rawer by the second, while the artist pressing his palms all over the arching torso. He received an extra satisfying reaction when his fingers brushed over the dusky nipples and he sunk his teeth into Peter's lower lip. He rubbed the sensitive pink flesh, realizing he was quickly getting addicted to the other man's moaning voice.

Peter tried to wiggle out of his shirt, still covering his arms, but Isaac stopped him. He liked the light blue material, or more precisely, he liked how it gave Peter a dishevelled look. His hands found the other pair and their fingers intertwined while their hips began rubbing together again, sending sparks all over their nervous system. Peter continued to plead for the other man to hurry up, though the words he used were far more profane and lewd. Knowing he had this sort of effect on the goody-two-shoes was intoxicating and Isaac decided, once he's teased the hero to the point of insanity, to give into his shameless pleas. He unbuckled the other's belt and yanked the tight jeans down the thin legs, throwing them somewhere over his back as if they'd angered him somehow, and he took a moment to appreciate the new sight. He smirked when he realized Peter wasn't wearing anything under the jeans and continued to run his hungry eyes over the body, fully aware of how he was making the object of his interest squirm. He really was a sadist sometimes...

'Isaac, stop looking and start touching.' For a second the artist was almost surprised at the sudden bark in Peter's voice but then he noticed how the blood rushed to his face and his grin widened into a crescent moon display.

'Looks like someone found their voice...' But Isaac leaned over the other body, his lips barely brushing the second pair, before he spoke again. 'What do you want me to touch?' With every word his mouth brushed Peter's and he was pleased to see it parting just for him, offering itself up like a sacrifice.

'You know damn well what...Stop playing games.' But Isaac loved this particular game of cat and mouse far too much to give up, especially when he was clearly winning.

'I can't read minds. Unfortunately that isn't my _talent_.' The painter ran his hands over the other's thigh and over his hips, feeling them vibrate under his touch. He even _accidentally_ caused a little friction between the back of his hand and the one organ which practically begged for attention but he withdrew his hands far too soon and Peter whined desperately.

'Damn it Isaac... Don't make me say it. It's embarrassing.' Which was exactly why Isaac wanted Peter to say it. But when the puppy eyes meet his, the eyes which were probably used to getting whatever they wanted since no normal human could resist their hypnotic spell, he decided to give into the hero's whims.

'Alright, you don't have to say it.' Peter's face looked relieved for a second but did a double take when Isaac's features morphed into a sadistic smirk. He wasn't a normal human and far too cynical to fall under the influence of sympathy. 'A visual demonstration would do just as well.' Peter's eyes widened when understanding dawned on him and he opened his mouth to speak though nothing other than a choked sound came out. To help the other make up his mind, the artist suddenly ground his need against Peter's just to show him the sort of electrifying pleasure he was missing on. 'It's up to you Peter.' He purred out the words and that was the final straw.

Isaac watched with amusement as the man whom he claimed to hate began to hesitantly inch his hand closer to his needy member. It was all the harder for Peter because he was being watched and Isaac's gaze was anything but friendly. He looked as if he wanted to eat him whole and frankly Peter wouldn't have objected... He threw his head back when his fingers wrapped around his length and began moving in a rhythm he knew was pleasing from past self-experiencing, closing his eyes and biting his lower lip to take his mind off of being watched.

He missed seeing Isaac lick his lips, his eyes raking the wanton display appreciatively, before he leaned over the bed and fished for something under it. The room was too small for a drawer so he kept his goodies, specifically there just for such an occasion, under the bed. He dipped his fingers generously into the tube of lubricant and leaned over Peter, feeling his body heat, before pushing the first intruder inside his unexpected hole. Immediately the smaller man opened his eyes wide only to look into a wolfish pair directly above his before his lips were claimed and he forgot all about the finger knuckle-deep inside his ass.

And then the thrusting began and Peter's pleased moans were happily swallowed by Isaac's claiming lips. His hand continued to move along his erection until the painter noticed and slapped it away only to press it into the sheets. He silenced Peter's groan with an extra powerful thrust of his finger and was surprised to see the lively response at being treated rougher. Yep, Peter defiantly had a thing for roughness. When the wall of muscles began to loosen around him, Isaac added a second finger to the first and pressed along the tunnel in search of Peter's hidden switch. He took careful note of his flickering expressions as he left love bites along the shoulders and neck. He was going to make damn sure Simone wouldn't want him back even if he want begging, though judging from the way he called Isaac's name he was pretty certain Peter had no intention of doing so. Still...better safe than sorry.

'Isaac!...' Something in Peter's tone alerted the other man to his growing impatience. Maybe it was the sharp edge... Distracted by his thoughts, Isaac mistakenly changed the angle of his thrusting fingers and finally found it, the magic bundle of nerves. Peter's body jerked so suddenly and his face contorted so acutely, Isaac was certain he'd somehow hurt the other man but then the hips bucked into his hand in their frantic search to feel that again and he grinned knowingly. He made sure to take advantage of this new found knowledge and drilled into Peter until the other man's eyes began to water and he was both verbally and physically begging Isaac to fuck him with something else other than fingers.

'Please!... I need... Fuck me already!...Please...' Isaac was tiptoeing on the edge anyway, his own self-control dwindling. He couldn't say he knew Peter very well but he never would have dreamed him capable of being so slutty, not that he was complaining. Far, far, far from it.

'Since you said the magic word...' He pulled his hands away and hastily removed his only article of clothing, the stripped boxers trailing over the edge of the bed to the floor, and he slipped on a condom in what must have been record time. He had Peter's legs wrapped around his waist before the other could recover from the finger fucking and he pressed the head of his member to the covetous hole. He knew Peter was plenty prepared, having made sure to bring the man to the brink of tears and shameless begging, so he freely burring himself to the hilt inside the ardent tunnel in one smooth move. For a second both men paused to savour this intimate connection they managed to achieve but it became too little too soon.

'Move!...' Isaac was the sort to automatically argue when given an order but he resisted the urge just this once.

'Yes sir.' He couldn't however, resist the urge to have the last word. He pulled almost all the way out just to slam back inside the consuming heat, his skin slapping against Peter's and making the act all the more arousing. He began building a steady but punishing rhythm, relishing every delicious noise which streamed out of the other man's mouth. Peter's drenched hair swung with the motions and the bed creaked extra loudly that night. Isaac drank in the sight through narrowed eyes and made a mental note to immortalize it on paper later. He took note of the way Peter's eyes were screwed shut, his eyebrows furrowed as if in deep concentration. The way his pretty lips were red and swollen from all the bites and they panted, gasped, moaned his name as if it was a mantra they couldn't stop chanting. The way the long fingers, delicate enough to care for the sickest of men, were clawing at the sheets and causing them to crease under their hold. This was certainly a painting he would enjoy working on later, if only to see Peter's face when it would be finished.

Isaac could tell the other was close from the way his hips bucked vehemently against him and his larynx seemed to lose all manner of control over the volume of the voice. He was close too but he was not going to come first! He grasped Peter's hips and drove into him even harder, determined to make the other come undone without his cock being touched even once. He slammed hard enough into the hero for his head to hit the bed post but neither man noticed and with one last strangled cry, Peter's back arched and jolts of electricity seemed to jolt his whole frame, lighting it up beautifully. The sudden clamping of the muscles around his prick had Isaac throwing himself head first over the edge like a suicidal cliff jumper. The pleasure ran through them like a freight train and neither managed to move for at least five minutes, content to just lay there and attempt catching their run-away breaths.

'Still think me coming here was a bad idea?' Peter was looking at the ceiling, his eyes about ready to fall blissfully shut.

'Don't get cocky.' The artist turned to look at the sleepy mouse and a lazy cat grin spread over his lips.

'No, that's your job.'

* * *

Peter blinked sleepily, his mind trying to hold onto the pleasant dream but failing to do so. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so well rested... He couldn't even remember when he fell asleep. It was late and dark and he broke up with Simone and then... Peter glanced to the other side of the bed and saw Isaac's sleeping face, scowling even when dreaming. He bit his lips softly and smiled when he remembered their unexpectedly passionate encounter of the previous night. His eyes travelled over the softly rising, exposed chest and he felt lust begin to stir inside him like a waking animal.

To distract his racing mind he turned over to the other side and let his hand drape over the edge, swinging casually. His fingertips brushed against something and he recognised the familiar touch of paper. Curiosity driving him to investigate further, he picked the copy up and brought it to his lap. He was as silent as possible as he sat up, crossing his feet in front of him, not entirely sure if he was allowed to look through one of Isaac's sketch books. The guy was quick to snap after all... But even with the possibility of Isaac snapping at him and possibly throwing him into the street, Peter couldn't stop his fingers from turning the pages over. Illustration after beautiful illustration played in front of his eyes and he began to lose himself in them.

When he reached the picture of Simone yelling at him to get out he quickly turned the page over, unwilling to cast his mind back to that particular event. He never wanted to hurt her but he simply couldn't pretend he was something he wasn't anymore... He wasn't like Nathan. He frowned at the picture of the clock and his eyes widened when he turned the page again, much like the artist's had when they first fell on the depiction of Isaac's body pressing Peter against his front door. More memories of the other night flashed across Peter's back and the animal began to grow restless... The next picture was of Isaac and himself on that very bed he was currently in, the expression on the painter's face so ecstatic it must have been when the orgasm hit him. He hadn't had a chance to see it yet and he swallowed dryly at the sight. He wanted a live action show though... He turned the page again and...this was new. They were still in the bed only they were certainly not sleeping. Peter was straddling Isaac's waist and, though the image was static, probably bouncing on his dick like a basket-ball. Their fingers were intertwined in an intimate way and Isaac was studding him with that nerve-melting intensity. Peter could almost feel it even if the Isaac on the page was a simple result of some well-placed lines...

He was so engrossed in his study he didn't feel the flesh-and-bones Isaac wake up beside him. The artist sat up to peak over Peter's shoulder and he grinned silently at the picture. Oh that was one of his favourites. He really looked forwards to having Peter fucking himself while he sat back and enjoyed the front-row view. Like a ghost, he moved closer to the oblivious hero and placed a telling kiss on the back of his neck. Peter gasped and jumped up slightly, aware he'd been caught red-handed but relieved Isaac didn't seem angry. He melted into the arms moving along his almost immediately.

'We haven't done this.' He glanced over his shoulder and caught the mischief in the other's eyes. Oh no...

'Not _yet_.' Quicker than lightning, Isaac had Peter on his back, with one hand under his thigh, while their lips met in a very Good Morning kiss. The sketch book re-took its place on the floor and was forgotten until much later that day...

* * *

**I hope you all liked it and don't forget about that review~ (if u can) X3**

**HAVE A LOVELY DAY! **


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